Grandma Hates Drag

Sounds like a new band name. Maybe akin to Johnny Hates Jazz.

Let me preface this story by telling you it’s hearsay. I wasn’t there. I don’t know what exactly went down. I only know what I heard and my grandma’s personality. Therefore it’s got automatic credibility.

A new tenant moved into my grandma’s apartment complex. It’s an area for the elderly and disabled. This man is in his 40s or 50s and someone Grandma couldn’t stop talking about at first. How nice he was, etc. That was until she saw him walking from his apartment to the laundry area in a skirt and high heels. Wow. Really. Dude, in Small Town USA, you seriously think anyone is that open-minded. And in a retirement community, for goodness sake.

So it’s not enough for my grandma to talk about it to her friends behind this man’s back, which is probably what I would do and stop there. No, she goes up to him and tells him what she thinks about it. She explains to him, nicely she says, that people may do that where he comes from but they don’t do it around there. And apparently the next time she saw him, the skirt and heels were gone. Grandma: 1. Drag Queen: 0.

Now let’s play devil’s advocate. Is this any of Grandma’s business? No. Does it affect her life in any way, shape, or form? No. Should she keep her mouth shut and leave him alone? Yes. And that poor man. He moves in to a new town and some old lady starts telling him what he can and can’t wear. And that hateful soul is my grandma. I guess I really do get it honest.